Treading water in the dating pool

Though the tag indicates "creative non-fiction, the tale is sadly true. 

A date is more than “didchaeatyet?’ right. Let's say a date is an event where the dator askes the datee, then picks up said datee and brings the datee home again. And you want to know if any of mine ever took a left turn, right? Yeah, sure. No problem. Except which one shall I share with you? Oh never, mind. I’ll tell you about all of them. Take a seat. No, this won’t take long. It’s a short story, more like flash fiction, really.

It was in tenth grade that Robert asked me out. He said he had tickets to a play; would I go with him? I was stunned. Had never realized that he knew who I was, or that I was. So, I said yeah, sure. When he walked away, I asked a friend if she knew his name.

Robert, like a gentleman, came to pick me up, even stepped inside to meet the parents. Then we each rode our own bike to the playhouse. I’ll never forget the play. No, let me rephrase that, I’m afraid I’ll never forget the play “The Flies” by Jean Paul Satre. Did not understand the theme, the plot or whatever the chorus was chanting.

Then came intermission. Robert bought me a coke and then we stood there. I didn’t want to look stupid and confess that I didn’t understand the play and I didn’t want to seem shallow and make fun of the people around us, nor did I want to be nosy and ask about him. Yeah, now, some sixty years later, I understand that most people like to talk about themselves.

Robert may or may not have had the same thoughts rumbling through his brain. I don't know, because he didn’t say anything either.

Awkward!

The ride home was silent and wet in the October rain. He didn't ask me on a second date. No surprise there.

I'll take fifty percent responsibility for the failure of that date.

My second date happened just weeks after my parents, and I moved to Georgia.

Someone my father knew from work called him and explained that his family had an out-of-town nephew visiting and everybody was going to a wedding reception, but he didn't have a plus-one. Could the young man call me and ask me out.

Sure, I shrugged when dad repeated the message. I didn't know anyone, so yes, a party would be fun. The boy called, I said sure and asked him what I should wear.

"Well, it's a garden party, so something casual, I guess."

"Cool. See you in a bit." I was happy that I didn't have to change out of my jeans and t-shirt.

Nobody said anything, though plenty of eyebrows were raised, when we walked into the party. My escort was very quick to introduce me as "Trudy, she is from Holland." Ah, well, their expressions said, that explained everything. To be honest, at the time, I did not own a skirt or dress. Actually, I still don't.

The fellow might have been embarrassed to be seen with me, but I had a good time.

My third date was in college, my junior year.

Debbie, a friend of a friend, called me on a Saturday. Her boyfriend, Paul, had an out-of-town guest and would I please come and make a fourth. No, this is not a theme, just a coincidence, I'm sure. I declined, not being a fan of blind dates and urged, begged her to find someone else.

"Oh, but he’s nice and good looking. He’s a model."

"Contradiction in terms, Debbie. Twenty-somethings that are good looking are rarely nice as well, or he would have a girlfriend, now, wouldn’t he?"

She called me five times that afternoon. I finally succumbed.

They picked me up and introduced me to Kevin. We went to our usual hang-out. An old gas/service station turned dive. The pizza was good, the beer cold and both cheap. It was my home away from home during my college years.

Debbie and I weren’t close friends and without our mutual friend between us, we had little to talk about. Paul and Kevin had plenty to reminisce about and mostly ignored us. Kevin, who had so desperately needed a date, got up several times to make a call, but the person he was trying to connect with, an old flame, was not at home.

When we were finished eating we drove to Rufus’s place. Rufus was surprised to see us, but let us in, then retreated to his study to continue working on his PhD dissertation. Paul and Debbie retreated to the back bedroom. Kevin made one more phone call. All smiles, saying he’d be right back, he took the keys and went to see his old girlfriend.

I spent several hours on Rufus’s couch, sipping water, evaluating my choice in friends.

Debbie and Paul did emerge from the bedroom at one point, and Kevin remembered to come back. When he walked me to my door, Kevin said he had enjoyed meeting me and hoped I had a pleasant evening. I’m too much of a lady to tell you what I called him and what I suggested he could do with his free time.

I only take ten percent responsibility for that wasted evening. I should have stuck to my guns and declined the invitation.

Fast forward to my second job and fourth and last date.

My immediate supervisor invited me to an evening of euchre. To those of you not familiar with the game, and I sure wasn’t, euchre is a third cousin at least once removed to bridge, where colors and suits can change at a whim and point values seem to be arbitrary.

I was paired with Gary. A nice enough fellow, though most of our conversations were limited to him explaining the game, again and again. The rest of the time he talked sports with our host. Should have been a red flag, but I was young-ish. I attended three of those thrilling evenings, each time Gary was my partner. After the third evening, he asked if I would go out with him. Dinner, he said.

Sure, I said. It wasn’t as if I had an active social life.

Before dinner we went to a basketball game. Notre Dame versus SC Gamecocks. Turned out, Gary and his parents, who had come down from Indiana to see the game, were avid Notre Dame fans. I didn’t know I was going to meet his parents, honestly, he had not said.

Our seats were up high, the very top row, I could almost lean back and touch the outer wall of the stadium. The advantage was that the big cube that showed the scores and how many minutes I still had to sit there, was at eye level. My vertigo and fear of heights kept me glued to the narrow bench for however long it took. I did not get up to cheer, but of course everybody else did, blocking my view of the big cube where the action was replayed. Oh well…

Afterwards the four of us went to dinner. The three-way conversation between Gary and his parents centered, of course, around the game I didn’t see.

I’m sure I was partly to blame for that fiasco. On the other hand, had Gary told me that his parents would join us on our first date, which would also involve sitting though a basketball game, watching a bunch of miniature boys running around the court, I would have declined. Politely, but declined, nonetheless.

And those are all my dates, really every single one of them. None of them encouraged me to make it a habit. And yes, I have been married, but we never had a date, which is another story. Unless you think it’s a date when he says, as he's shrugging into his coat. “Hey babe, I’m going see The Fly. Wanna come?”